I am 18 years old
I just found out that I spend most of my time sleeping,
I am obsessed with it.
I have lived for 9,460,800 minutes
Most of which I waste on sleep
Sleeping is my personal heroin,
It lets my arms as a pair of wings to fly me to paradise.
When I want to escape from reality,
I shoot it up my veins.
One day, my mom was chatting with her friends,
When they discussed my studies,
I looked down at my shoes while their children smiled smugly.
Their smiles struck my wings like lighting
The path to my paradise began to disappear
I thought I could use my broken wings to open their eyes
so that they would see my true face
But this was just my imagination
I needed a hit so bad that I slept for 3 days
Feeling likes a puppet, no pain as my strings are pulled
My dream leads me into that sense again,
I looked at their lips and heard their words, proudly I say to her friends, “I am better than your child.”
When I awake, I feel my emotions flood back to me stronger than before
When I was in high school,
I worked so hard but I still couldn’t achieve a score to be proud of
When I see my father’s rough hands, I am shamed by my B Grade Paper.
Then I begin to think what I can do for him,
I ask: “DAD! Can I go to get a part-time job?
“No, getting back to your studies!”
I prepared to take another shot of heroin
To help me pretend as if nothing happened
I used to think that sleeping would solve my ailments
But I realized
I realized that I am escaping
Like boxers hide behind their gloves
Like timid warriors escape from the battlefields
These years, I am search in for peace
But opiate feeling blinds my eyes

I know that stealing is wrong but I don't regret what I did.
I only stole food and I only did it to be able to feed my kids.
After my wife died, I had a breakdown and my job was something I lost.
I would've gladly paid for the food but I couldn't afford what it cost.
I turned to other people for help but they refused to lend a helping hand.
People don't help others like they used to, it was too much for me to stand.
My kids went to a foster home when I went to jail.
Now I'm fighting to get them back and I won't fail.
I have a new job and I'll get them back but I don't know when.
But mark my words, my children and I will be a family again.
(This is a fictional poem)